


Merry Christmas, Punk

by gayliens



Series: Fairytale of New York [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Bucky Barnes, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Skinny Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:03:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2853455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayliens/pseuds/gayliens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Bucky set out to do was collect his paycheck and head home for Christmas. But it looks like this flirty stranger may have other ideas...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Punk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zara (christmasromanoff.tumblr.com)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=zara+%28christmasromanoff.tumblr.com%29).



Bucky finishes smoothing the dirty rag over the grease-smeared table and straightens up, adjusting his stupid itchy Santa hat. The gleaming diner is festooned with loops of paper chains and sparkling tinsel. Winter Wonderland fills the room at full volume, competing with the sharp clink of plates against cheap silverware and the bustle of upbeat chatter.

He hears the familiar jangle of the bell as the door at the back of the diner swings open, blasting him with a wave of freezing New York air. He groans inwardly. A crowd of at least five burly high school students that he recognises vaguely from his gym class burst into the diner. 

‘Hey, kid!’ one of them yells as they slide into a huge booth. ‘Get us a menu, will ya?’

Bucky grits his teeth and yanks a few laminated menu cars out of the box on the counter. God, he hates this job. But if he can hold it together for a few more hours, he’ll have his paycheck for the week. Three glorious dollars, more than enough for him to finish his Christmas shopping. He smiles as he imagines how happy Sarah will be when she sees the doll she’s wanted all year sitting under the tree tomorrow morning. Thank God the toy store is open late on Christmas Eve.

‘Barnes! Are you serving those kids or not?’

The barking voice of his boss, a burly man known to him only as Jones, jerks him from his reverie. He bustles over to the table and takes orders for drinks. Their voices all merge into each other’s as they scramble for attention. The orders come thick and fast, and Bucky scribbles down what he thinks he heard, to nervous to ask the jocks to repeat themselves. As he’s turning away from the table, he hears one of the smallest call out in a shaking voice laced with false bravado.

‘Actually, can I get a-’

‘Shut up, faggot,’ one of the other boys says belligerently.

‘Yeah, who invited the queer, anyway?’

Bucky locks his jaw together to keep himself from replying and clenches his shaking fists. _They can’t possibly know, he reassures himself. Just a few more hours and you never have to talk to these losers again._

He hears the scrape of the chair as a scrawny boy at another table rises from his seat, and he has to catch his breath because _damn_ if that isn’t the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen. He’s skinny, sure, but his narrow face only highlights the silhouette of his perfectly sculpted cheekbones, his piercing blue eyes framed by ridiculously long lashes. And right now, those eyes look intensely pissed.

‘What did you call him?’ the boy asks as he approaches the gang’s table.

‘I called him a fag, fag,’ one of the boys retorts, rising from his seat. ‘What are you gonna do about it?’

Suddenly the smaller boy leaps forward, putting all his energy into a feeble punch that lands somewhere on the bully’s stomach. The latter simply laughs as he aims a short, sharp blow at his adversary’s jaw, knocking him straight to the ground. The gang in the booth starts chanting ‘fight, fight, fight!’ drowning out the comically cheerful music of Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer. 

It’s painful to watch. Every time the scrawny boy falls down, he struggles to his feet again with flailing arms, only to hit the floor again. Bruises are rapidly spreading across his gorgeous face, but he maintains a focused, determined stare, as though he’s completely unaware of how ridiculous he looks. It’s all a hopeless tangle of limbs, the older boy gripping the younger in a headlock and squeezing tightly. A nasty smile spreads across his face and the skinny boy struggles desperately like an insect stuck in a spider’s web.

Bucky can’t take it anymore. He knows he’s supposed to wait for someone else to intervene when a brawl breaks out, but this is too much. He marches straight over to the scrap and grasps the jock by the scruff of his jacket, yanking as hard as he can. The boy reaches around and Bucky feels ragged nails scratching at the back of his neck, dragging him further towards the floor until-

‘Barnes! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

It’s Jones, standing with his arms folded in the doorway, a scowl creasing his face. Bucky freezes and slowly releases his grip on the stranger.

‘Sir, I was just trying to-’ he begins desperately.

‘No excuses, kid. You’re fired.’

‘But Sir-’

‘Merry Christmas, son.’ 

His boss gestures to the rest of the high schoolers. ‘And I want all of you filth out too!’

***

By the time Bucky’s collected his things and headed out the door, the alleyway outside is deserted. Well, almost. A very familiar skinny silhouette is leaning nonchalantly against the alley wall.

Suddenly, Bucky’s angry. Who does this guy think he is, bursting into the diner with those stupid perfect eyelashes and getting him fired from his job without so much as a ‘sorry’? He marches determinedly towards the boy, towering over him as he clenches his collar in his fist.

‘You just got me fired, punk,’ he growls, trying his best to sound intimidating. ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’

To his surprise, the kid doesn’t sock him. He just straightens up a little taller and fixes Bucky with those clear, sparkling eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says respectfully. ‘I didn’t mean for you to lose your job. It’s just that I’ve heard that word used against me once too often to just sit there, y’know?’

He slowly uncurls his fingers from around the coarse material of the smaller boy’s jacket, a weird fluttering rising up in his chest. Christ, he was not expecting that. 

‘I think I know exactly what you mean,’ he mutters softly. For a moment they just stand there, almost motionless in the cloaked secrecy of the alleyway. The other boy’s eyes are open, trusting, questioning. Bucky has to practically fight off the urge to lean in and brush his lips against that perfect mouth right then and there.

The kid clears his throat, breaking the soft, weighted silence. ‘Look, let me make this up to you. I know a diner down the road that tends to attract less homophobes. What do you say to a burger?’

‘Well, I don’t have any money...’ Bucky begins.

‘I’ll pay,’ the boy says decisively. ‘Least I can do.’ He pauses suddenly. ‘Look, I’ve ruined your Christmas and I don’t even know your name.’

‘It’s, uh, Bucky. Bucky Barnes.’

‘Nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes,’ he says, extending his hand for a handshake. ‘I’m Steve Rogers.’

Steve releases his grip just a touch too slowly and tenderly to be entirely platonic, and Bucky feels a gleeful shiver up his arm as the other boy’s fingertips brush against his. 

His companion shoots him a grin. ‘Shall we?’

***

‘So, what does Bucky Barnes do in his spare time?’ asks Steve, shooting him a flirtatious glance over the top of his milkshake glass. ‘I’m guessing you go to South Brooklyn.’

‘You guess correctly,’ Bucky retorts. ‘Um, when I’m not studying or working, I usually run. Cross country. I’m aiming for the school team this year, but...’

He trails off. _But the meets are too expensive and if Mom is working day and night to put food on the table how the hell is she supposed to finance my stupid sports?_

‘What about you?’ he asks hastily.

‘Well, if you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly a sporting kind of guy.’ He grins. ‘And I’m hardly Mr Popular around here, so I spend most of my time drawing. If I’m going to be made fun of, might as well go the whole way, eh?’

‘Look, anyone who makes fun of you is an asshole through and through,’ Bucky blurts out defensively. ‘You’re better than them.’

‘That was defensive,’ Steve replies, but he’s smiling wider than ever now, his cheeks flushed and blue eyes sparkling. He traces his finger thoughtfully along the curve of his full bottom lip, his eyes not leaving Bucky for the whole time. 

_For someone who’s basically a social leper, this guy has some serious flirting skills_ , Bucky marvels. He presses his lips together firmly to stop a foolish grin from worming its way onto his face. He quickly shifts his gaze back to his milkshake glass to avoid any further embarrassment. 

Steve has pulled out a pencil and is sketching something on the edge of a clean napkin, concentrating intensely.

‘Can I have a look?’ Bucky asks tentatively.

‘It’s private,’ Steve replies, folding it up carefully and sliding it into his pocket. 

‘Just so long as you’re not drawing porn,’ he jokes. 

_Fuck, I’ve gone too far. That joke wasn’t funny and now he’s never going to talk to me again._

But the lines around Steve’s eyes crinkle into a smile. ‘Not at all. But you know, the assumptions we make do say something about ourselves.’ He winks playfully.

‘Screw off, Rogers,’ he jokes. ‘I can always find some other aspiring Van Gogh to buy me cheeseburgers.’

‘Ah, but could they ever be as good as me?’

It’s just teasing, really. Playful ribbing, the kind Bucky’s engaged in a million times with his friends. But something about it seems different, some subtle undertone in the atmosphere which seems almost electrically charged as him and Steve toss bad puns and playful digs across the table. And he’d be lying if he didn’t say that when Steve splayed his outstretched hands on the table, he didn’t edge his quivering fingers just a little bit closer.

***

‘Look, thanks so much for the night,’ Bucky says. ‘I don’t know how to repay you.’

They’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk on the bustling high street in front of the diner, people shoving past them on every side. He knows he should be getting home soon- it’s getting on eleven now- but he can’t help wanting to drag this out for as long as he can.

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ says Steve. ‘Just call it an early Christmas present.’

‘In that case,’ he begins slowly, ‘I have a present for you.’

_Man up, Buck. It’s now or never._

He wraps two fingers and a thumb around Steve’s wrist, brushing his skin as lightly as he can. He glances up and down the street, but everyone seems too preoccupied with their Christmas shopping to notice. 

Gently, he steers the other boy into the nearby alleyway, leading him silently past heavily graffitied walls and crumbling bricks. He turns to face him, right thumb still resting gently on the inside of Steve’s wrist, and takes a shaky breath before he leans downward and melts into a kiss.

They seem to fall into each other as the rhythm of their mouths move gently together. He feels Steve’s hand reaching up and brushing the hair away from the side of his face, tangling his fingers in his ruffled dark hair. A warm feeling floods through him and he presses in a little more insistently. He feels the smaller boy’s limbs entwining with his own and he cocoons himself in this beautiful sweet sensation of bliss, of everything fitting together like the final click of the last jigsaw puzzle piece.

When they finally pull apart, it’s with the gentle brush of his lips against Steve’s cheek, the sensation of the other boy’s hand gently sliding out of his jacket pocket. His fingers are trembling with the shock of what just happens when he speaks.

‘Um, it’s hardly a kiss under the mistletoe, but-’

Steve brushes his finger against Bucky’s lips. ‘It’s perfect.’

The skinnier boy suddenly glances down at his watch. ‘Shit! I’ve got to go. I’m so sorry.’

He stands on his tiptoes and plants a kiss on Bucky’s cheek. ‘Merry Christmas, Bucky Barnes.’

‘And a Happy New Year, Steve Rogers.’

He takes off down the alleyway, calling ‘See you around!’ over his shoulder as he sprints into the night and then he’s gone, faster than he arrived. 

Christmas... _fuck!_ Sarah’s Christmas present! He’s been so preoccupied with Steve that he’s completely forgotten to get it, and now he doesn’t even have the money after being fired from that stupid diner. He groans and sticks his hands into his pockets, sinking to the ground.

To his surprise, he feels two crumpled pieces of paper in his right pocket that definitely weren't there before. He pulls them out, curious.

In his hand is a folded white napkin and- holy _shit_ \- a crumpled five dollar bill. He carefully smooths out the napkin, immediately recognising it as the one Steve was doodling on at the diner. Most of the napkin is taken up by a pencil sketch of himself in mid-laugh, his ruffled hair sticking out in every direction. It's only a quick doodle, but the skilful pencil lines have clearly been sketched out with care.

 _Dear Bucky,_ it reads in loopy handwriting. _I hope this will help cover your paycheck. I’m sorry again about what happened at the diner. Merry Christmas. Steve xx_

Bucky shakes his head disbelievingly, a grin spreading across his face. ‘Merry Christmas, punk,’ he whispers to himself fondly, as he touches the spot on his cheek where Steve kissed him.


End file.
